Someday, Oneday
by Molly1
Summary: Growing up means change and for Francis Houseman, growing also meant leaving behind her past for a bright new future. What happens when life takes "Baby" back out of the corner and shows her some new dance moves?


Someday, Oneday

By: Molly Priest

_There was a time when I was sure I knew exactly how to make everything right in the world and that, with enough confidence and perseverance, anything could be done. There was a time when I was enthralled having long discussions and debates with my father about economics and peace activists and underdeveloped countries. A time when I thought I could make changes everyday everywhere. The days when I was okay with everyone calling me "Baby" and it never occurred to me that maybe I was beyond such an immature pet name. _

_Then everything changed and I saw what I had always been protected from. I saw life in the most unexpected venue- Kellerman's. What had started as a family vacation ended in me learning that life doesn't come in a neat little package with a pretty bow on top. I opened my eyes and saw that everything I had known to that point was just what they wanted me to know, my mom and my dad. And most importantly, I learned to love._

_While you think, at the time, that there would be no way to leave that first love of your life, to not see him and lay with him and be with him, that you're heart would split in two and shatter on the ground if he's taken away from you; somehow you live day after day without him. I left Kellerman's and my first real love, Johnny Castle, after that summer of '63. I left it all back on those mountains and in the clubhouses and in his bungalow, my memories, a part of me, a part of what I had always known. I left and I grew._

_And then, when I thought I'd never stop hurting, my entire life came into the picture and reminded me that it was possible to move on. On to college, a career, a move across the miles… I left everything and everyone and realized, still, that I wouldn't melt away for lack of those things I had loved._

_That's why I found myself in San Francisco in 1970, on the cusp of a new decade and the brink of my new life. That was me, Francis Houseman, living her life and, unknowingly, running from everything she had ever wanted. But also quietly waiting for her every dream to miraculously come true…_

She had finally grown accustomed to the fog that met her in the morning. The cold was still biting, making her cheeks flush a deep red when she first began her brisk walk towards the Bus stop down the street from her apartment. But the fog she had made her peace with. There was a subtle beauty in the way it curved and edged around buildings, how people appeared through the murky grayness like wandering vagabonds- herself being no exception.

She stopped at the newsstand and flashed a friendly smile towards the old man, with deeply lined face and only a few teeth holding up his lips. "Francy, how's things?" He asked, popping a match against his sleeve as he lit a damp cigarette. It was hard to stay dry in the thick fog.

"About the same as it was yesterday I guess," She said, smiling still at the nickname he had given her. It had been almost a year with the same routine: a walk down the street, stop at Bruce's for a paper and a quick cup of coffee he kept warm for her, and the bus ride to the financial district for her 8 to 5 shift that typically brought her home sometime closer to 10. "Thanks, Bruce… I'll see you tomorrow."

"Francy!" She turned when he called her name. The old man's face was a little drawn when she walked back. "It might not be my place, but an old man gets to wonderin' why a young girl like you would be out on your own here?" he gestured with a quick slash of his hand through the fog.

Briefly Francis looked around and saw the people who so many had forgotten or simply chose to forget laying in gutters and against alley walls with sheets of yellow newspapers wrapped around their clothes, which where themselves one step up from trash. She saw the man in the shadows watching, his hands deep in his pockets and his face twitching. She saw the young people- younger than her- on the opposite street corner with bright colored signs and flowers with hearts and head bands and beads singing along with the beat of a drum about Peace and Love and Freedom.

She finally looked back at Bruce and shrugged. "I've always been on my own, and besides what better place for a writer than a city with such personalities," she smiled again as she spoke. But there was a slight cringe and tightening of her mouth when she left.

She was alone, and of her own choosing. Francis, formerly Baby, Houseman was a woman who men could love. A perfect mix of the girl next door, the American Girl, and an opinionated idealist with a little rebel added in for good measure. Her curly bob framed a face that one man had told her looked "angelic" and another had said, "Made him think of passion." At such comments she had laughed and brushed it off as something men just said.

For as long as she could remember there had been no one else to count on, to rely on, and to expect help from other than herself. Just one short interlude into dependence pocked her independent past, the summer at Kellermans.

"Come on Baby, it's over- seven years over. You put that all behind you," she whispered to herself, flipping open the paper as she sipped the warm and fragrant coffee. The bus was late, but she was early. It was a time table of the city.

Briefly Francis wondered why it was her old nickname that came to her lips whenever she reassured herself about old and potentially difficult thoughts. Even when writing in her journal, which she did religiously, she signed each entry with a cursive B floating at the bottom of the page. Old habits died hard, harder than old memories.

When the bus did come she was deep into the world news, reading about war and poverty. A part of her still felt the strong desire to change and help and fix all the world's problems. A bigger part felt overwhelmed by it and soon folded the paper up against her chest as the bus bobbed and weaved to a stop in front of the groggy commuters.

Francis worked right in the middle of enormous towers of glass and metal that reached high through the fog like landmarks of the city. StraightArrow Publishing was on the thirtieth floor between some medical supplies industry and a law office. While she had every right to claim her career as a writer, she was still doomed to reading others manuscripts in a profession that did nothing for her creativity.

In her mind, when she lay back on her couch and watched the fog and people from outside of her Apartment's big bay windows, she had a thousand stories. Each face, blank and fixed on the street, had a story. There was the woman who tied all her old aluminum cans to strings and hung them on the fire escape every night at ten before she turned off the lights. The man who swept leaves with a broom that made him stoop in half to hold it.

Francis smiled. Coming to in the present she realized, with a sudden shock, that a man was smiling back at her from the other side of the bus. She turned her face quickly and began breathing slowly, assuring herself that the sound of scuffling couldn't possibly be him making his way…

"I'm Brian," the man said, sitting next to her. His aftershave was powerful, but also alluring. She turned and nodded with a short, companionable smile. Effort was taken to shut off the invitation to talk right there as she checked her watch. _Yep still there_. "I've seen you taking this bus for a couple months, you and I must work pretty close to each other."

"Yes, I'm sure. You look very professional, Brian. What do you do?" she asked, hoping the small talk might help the time pass.

"Talent Agent," he grimaced at the lifting of her eyebrows. "Oh no no, it's really not as exciting as it sounds," he chuckled a bit as Francis adjusted her seat. Brian cleared his throat and produced a business card. "I handle pretty new up and comers, here… I notice you writing sometimes." She took the card, feel trepidation about the interaction but also a hint of curiosity, especially when his eyes fixed on hers so intently.

She slipped the card into her pocket. "Are you a literary agent?"

"No," he answered quickly, "but I figured if you had that card then maybe if you wanted to go out for dinner sometime you'd be able to call me."

After that she couldn't help but talk and the ride passed in the fog and pleasant conversation.

**The woman who had once** been "Baby" to any close friends or family had suddenly forgotten why she had made such a solemn vow to herself… unbeknownst to herself more likely… to avoid interpersonal contact. Brian sat across from her, finishing the last of his coffee in the deli that just so happened to be between both of their offices. He had been right about one thing, they were neighbors as far as work went.

"So then tell me," she began, still chewing on a bite of her croissant-wich, "If you aren't a literary agent, what sort of talent do you handle?"

He wiped his mouth. "Mostly stage performers… a few actors. I have this new guy coming in today, seems to be pretty charismatic and driven. I snatched him up first thing. Saw him dancing in one of the, well, what you'd probably classify as cheap B-theaters." Francis snickered in response.

"I don't often get to make it to shows, I doubt I'd classify anything… and I doubt I'd dub your investment as a cheap B performer," she assured and pushed what remained of her lunch aside. "Unfortunately.." her voice trailed as she exhaled deeply.

"Already?"

She nodded and stood, wiping her hands one last time on the purple cloth napkin. People were all finishing up, and the sounds of metal chair legs scraping over the linoleum floor began to crescendo in a slow wave. "I have so many manuscripts waiting for me that I can't even see the top of my desk."

They walked side by side out the door and paused at the corner, where they would go their separate ways. The fog had cleared by eleven and the sky was a crystalline blue overhead. It was startling to see such sun, and yet the cold was unyielding. Francis tightened her coat around herself and smiled cautiously.

"This was nice," he said.

"Yeah, I had a really good time," she blurted out and then erupted into a full-bodied laugh that lifted her face past just good-looking and into beauty. Brian noticed and couldn't help but laugh along.

"You really are amazing, Francis."

"Oh, call me Baby," she stopped, laughter seeping away from her words as her surprise masked her original jovial mood. She scoffed at herself and looked up at the sparkling towers. "I mean, never mind. It's a long story. But, here," she produced her own card and handed it over, wondering what had broken through her barrier with this one. "Call me, we should really do this again."

"Definitely… Baby," he smiled and she could tell he was using the name as a joke on her original slip, but the sound of it reminded her of a bright summer and hot days spent in close quarters with someone who had changed her life. A summer where everything had changed.

They said a brief goodbye as they waited on the street corner for the light to change. When at last Francis proceeded into the crosswalk she turned briefly to glance at Brian. Dark hair, olive skin, warm and friendly eyes. He was the epitome of "tall, dark and handsome." She sighed and crossed the street in another couple lengthy strides.

Wondering again where he had come from and just how he had weaseled his way into her thoughts, she entered her building. There was a bustle downstairs, someone had dropped paperwork just at the entrance to the elevator and, she noticed as she passed them for another elevator that was open and ready to go, that whatever had been dropped had also slipped between the door and the floor and down into the elevator shaft.

"What a shame," she mumbled and cozied herself against the back wall of the elevator for the trip to the thirtieth floor. Her eyes fixed on the changed floor numbers did not have time to notice the man who leaned in the corner and stared.

"What's up Baby?"

The voice was familiar, the face even more so. She felt her jaw unhinge and her eyes dilate too quickly. "R-Robby?" her throat hitched at the start of his name from her lips. He sauntered a step or two towards her and let a slanted grin tickle his mouth. The same shock of black hair was tousled on his head and the same "devil may care" look plastered on his smug face. "I had no idea."

"Made something of yourself," he said then lowered his eyes briefly across her body. "You've grown up."

She held her briefcase up and then fixed him with a cold glare. "You might have the element of surprise on your side, Robby, but the threat still stands. Stay away from me, don't talk to me and," she paused as the bell rung and the elevator stopped. Robby was waiting for her to finish her threat. As the door opened she walked out, turned abruptly on her heels and narrowed her eyes. "And…. If I ever see you looking at me again don't expect to leave the situation with your pride intact."

The door snapped behind her as she walked quickly away, feeling her heart beat too quickly after her. Some things should stay in the past- he was one. Her name, that summer, the man who she'd loved. Francis entered her office and closed the door solidly. Solitude welcomed her with open arms. A name forced itself from her mouth as she let out a long sigh: "Johnny."


End file.
